


Smoke Alarms At 3 AM

by afteriwake



Series: Like A Good Neighbour... [1]
Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Donna Has a Crush, Donna is Donna, Early Mornings, Embarrassed Lestrade, Embarrassment, F/M, First Meetings, Handyman Lestrade, New Neighbors, POV Donna, Pre-Relationship, Silver Fox Lestrade, burnt food, smoke alarms, takeaway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2019-01-16 08:14:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12338865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: Donna gets a surprise when she meets her new neighbour when his smoke alarm goes off at three in the morning.





	Smoke Alarms At 3 AM

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GlowingMechanicalHeart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlowingMechanicalHeart/gifts).



> This fic was requested by **ladyofhimring** with the following prompt from [this list](http://penaltywaltz.tumblr.com/post/166305661348/send-me-a-ship-and-a-number-and-ill-write-a-short) (" _For the ship thingy: Donna/Greg #16 please_ "), which just immediately sparked the idea for yet _another_ series of them living in a crappy apartment complex.

The blaring of a smoke alarm at three in the morning was not what she wanted to meet her new neighbour over, but the walls of this place were paper thin despite being “luxury” flats. Luxury her arse, Donna thought to herself. She was already regretting moving into the building and she hadn’t even been there an entire weekend yet.

She banged on the door for her neighbor. “Oi! Whatever it is you’re attempting to cook, it’s probably charcoal by now! Turn off your bloody alarm!

The alarm went on for a few more minutes and then stopped, and so she stopped banging. She wasn’t sure she wanted to see the foolish uni student or half-wit single executive on the other side of the door, but they needed to learn _manners._ The door opened and everything she was going to say tumbled right out of her brain.

This was _not_ what she had expected.

There was an older gentleman, though not much older than her, with salt and pepper hair and a sheepish smile on his face. And bright eyes framed by specs; they reminded her of someone but she couldn’t quite place it. “I’m really sorry,” he said, running a hand through his short hair. “I was going over a case and just...forgot.”

“I have food,” she blurted out.

“Are you offering to share?” he asked, surprised. 

“Yeah,” she said. “You can cook, but under my supervision.”

He chuckled and really, it was a nice rumbling sound, warm and soothing. “Maybe takeaway would be better. I know all the local twenty-four-hour places.” He moved so she could come in. “You could join me?”

“Least you can do,” she said, pulling her shawl around her shoulders. And there was the laughter again. Oh, she could get lost in that sound. “You got wrapped up in a case, you said?”

He nodded as he shut the door behind them. “I’m a Detective Inspector for Scotland Yard,” he said before extending his hand. “Greg Lestrade.”

“Donna Noble,” she said, shaking his hand. Big, strong hand, warm with a few callouses. Whatever it was he did at the Yard, he did rough work, too. “I’m a secretary.”

“How did you end up here?” he asked as he let go of her hand.

“False advertising,” she said sourly. “My actual apartment is nothing like the show apartment.” She looked around. “Yours looks cozy, though. Homey.”

“I take care of repairs myself. The management that runs this complex is shite so I usually pitch in where I can and make minor repairs when I have the time for the rest of the residents. Usually I’m repaid in food, and I was _trying_ to heat up a lasagna when...”

They moved to the counter and she saw the charred food in the throw-away pan. “Yeah, I think it’s more briquette than edible at this point,” Donna said. She looked up and saw the sheepish grin was back on his face. This really was a much lovelier encounter than she had expected. “Have any menus for these twenty-four-hour delivery places?”

“By the refrigerator,” he said. “How do you feel about Chinese?”

“You’re speaking my language,” Donna said with a smile of her own. Somehow, she had the feeling that she might be spending more time in _this_ apartment than her own. Hopefully. If she was lucky.

And something told her she just might be.


End file.
